


Dawn over Tatooine, the early years

by Portia MacBeth (twistedchick)



Series: Sonnets From the Jedi [7]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Other, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/Portia%20MacBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desert is not always lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn over Tatooine, the early years

Time falters on the desert. The hours grind   
in dust and heat by day, bitter cold at night.  
Ignorant strangers harass me as I wait  
for time and prophecy to come, for children  
to grow tall. In retreat I feel blind,  
tears flooding memories of the fair light   
of the world I knew; how can I await  
another? The song of a desert wren  
is all my company. Yet I train still  
as the only duty left, hoping for  
comfort against all sense, against all fear,  
against the solitary cup and plate,  
against the fear that all has been too late  
and only I remain to mourn the clear  
beloved past. I have lost too much, for

losing all is too much, losing masters  
and friends, losing the work I loved best,  
losing the easy treasure of my life  
with my apprentice, now forever lost.  
Failure's expensive. There's no limit to the cost  
that's paid for my faults now, in deadly strife  
on distant worlds I loved. And must I rest  
in safety when all now face disaster  
because I did not listen to a friend?  
I sense the tramp of soldiers' boots on the soil  
and hear mothers' cries for their murdered ones  
who opposed invasion and empire. None  
are unscathed by my faults; by no hard toil  
can I bring their sorrows to an end.

All I can do is wait, watch over him,  
this child of our remaining hope, this son  
of the last best gift I knew, from the man   
whom I knew best, loved best, but could not keep  
from death too soon -- and from all that men reap  
because he found a gifted child. If I can   
protect this boy until he's grown, be done  
with hiding, I vow I'll go along with him  
and be of use again as I was trained.  
For now this solitude and discipline remain  
for me: live alone, burnish techniques learned  
years ago, hope some day to see one friend,  
one master, once again before the end  
comes even to this forgotten terrain.


End file.
